PART I. THE MOOR CALAYNOS. |
In the following version I have taken liberty to omit a good many of the introductory stanzas of the famous Coplas de Calainos. The reader will remember that this ballad is alluded to in Don Quixote, where the Knight's nocturnal visit to Toboso is described. It is generally believed to be among the most ancient, and certainly was among the most popular, of all the ballads in the Cancionero. | I. | | "I had six Moorish nurses, but the seventh was not a Moor,
The Moors they gave me milk enow, but the Christian gave me lore;
And she told me ne'er to listen, though sweet the words might be,
Till he that spake had proved his troth, and pledged a gallant fee."— | | II. | | "Fair damsel," quoth Calaynos, "if thou wilt go with me,
Say what may win thy favour, and thine that gift shall be.
Fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale,
And bonny is the red red gold, and rich the silver pale."— | | III. | | "Fair sir," quoth she, "virginity I never will lay down
For gold, nor yet for silver, for castle, nor for town;
But I will be your leman for the heads of certain peers—
And I ask but three—Rinaldo's—Roland's—and Olivier's."— | | IV. | | He kissed her hand where she did stand, he kissed her lips also,
And "Bring forth," he cries, "my pennon, for to Paris I must go."—
I wot ye saw them rearing his banner broad right soon,
Whereon revealed his bloody field its pale and crescent moon. | | V. | | That broad bannere the Moore did rear, ere many days were gone,
In foul disdain of Charlemagne, by the church of good Saint John;
In the midst of merry Paris, on the bonny banks of Seine,
Shall never scornful Paynim that pennon rear again. | | VI. | | His banner he hath planted high, and loud his trumpet blown,
That all the twelve might hear it well around King Charles's throne;
The note he blew right well they knew; both Paladin and Peer
Had the trumpet heard of that stern lord in many a fierce career. | | VII. | | It chanced the King, that fair morning, to the chace had made him bowne,
With many a knight of warlike might, and prince of high renown;
Sir Reynold of Montalban, and Claros' Lord, Gaston,
Behind him rode, and Bertram good, that reverend old Baron. | | VIII. | | Black D'Ardennes' eye of mastery in that proud troop was seen,
And there was Urgel's giant force, and Guarinos' princely mien;
Gallant and gay upon that day was Baldwin's youthful cheer,
But first did ride, by Charles's side, Roland and Olivier. | | IX. | | Now in a ring around the King, not far in the greenwood,
Awaiting all the huntsman's call, it chanced the nobles stood;
"Now list, mine earls, now list!" quoth Charles, "yon breeze will come again,
Some trumpet-note methinks doth float from the bonny banks of Seine."— | | X. | | He scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had said,
When among the trees he near him sees a dark and turbaned head;
"Now stand, now stand at my command, bold Moor," quoth Charlemagne,
"That turban green, how dare it be seen among the woods of Seine."— | | XI. | | "My turban green must needs be seen among the woods of Seine,"
The Moor replied, "since here I ride in quest of Charlemagne—
For I serve the Moor Calaynos, and I his defiance bring
To every lord that sits at the board of Charlemagne your King. | | XII. | | "Now lordlings fair, if anywhere in the wood ye've seen him riding,
O tell me plain the path he has ta'en—there is no cause for chiding;
For my lord hath blown his trumpet by every gate of Paris—
Long hours in vain, by the bank of Seine, upon his steed he tarries."— | | XIII. | | When the Emperor had heard the Moor, full red was his old cheek,
"Go back, base cur, upon the spur, for I am he you seek—
Go back, and tell your master to commend him to Mahoun,
For his soul shall dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go down. | | XIV. | | "Mine arm is weak, my hairs are grey," (thus spake King Charlemagne,)
"Would for one hour I had the power of my young days again,
As when I plucked the Saxon from out his mountain den—
O soon should cease the vaunting of this proud Saracen! | | XV. | | "Though now mine arm be weakened, though now my hairs be grey,
The hard-won praise of other days cannot be swept away—
If shame there be, my liegemen, that shame on you must lie—
Go forth, go forth, good Roland; to-night this Moor must die."— | | XVI. | | Then out and spake rough Roland—"Ofttimes I've thinned the ranks
Of the hot Moor, and when all was o'er have won me little thanks;
Some carpet knight will take delight to do this doughty feat,
Whom damsels gay shall well repay with their smiles and whispers sweet!"— | | XVII. | | Then out and spake Sir Baldwin—the youngest peer was he,
The youngest and the comeliest—"Let none go forth but me;
Sir Roland is mine uncle, and he may in safety jeer,
But I will show the youngest may be Sir Roland's peer."— | | XVIII. | | "Nay, go not thou," quoth Charlemagne, "thou art my gallant youth,
And braver none I look upon; but thy cheek it is too smooth;
And the curls upon thy forehead they are too glossy bright;—
Some elder peer must couch his spear against this crafty knight."— | | XIX. | | But away, away goes Baldwin, no words can stop him now,
Behind him lies the greenwood, he hath gained the mountain's brow,
He reineth first his charger, within the churchyard green,
Where, striding slow the elms below, the haughty Moor is seen. | | XX. | | Then out and spake Calaynos—"Fair youth, I greet thee well;
Thou art a comely stripling, and if thou with me wilt dwell,
All for the grace of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy fee,
Within my lady's chamber a pretty page thou'lt be."— | | XXI. | | An angry man was Baldwin, when thus he heard him speak,
"Proud knight," quoth he, "I come with thee a bloody spear to break."—
O, sternly smiled Calaynos, when thus he heard him say,—
O loudly as he mounted his mailÈd barb did neigh. | | XXII. | | One shout, one thrust, and in the dust young Baldwin lies full low—
No youthful knight could bear the might of that fierce warrior's blow;
Calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro,
"Thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go."— | | XXIII. | | The helpless youth revealed the truth. Then said the conqueror—
"I spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valour;
But thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee,
For fain I'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee." | | XXIV. | | Sir Roland heard that haughty word, (he stood behind the wall,)
His heart, I trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall;
But now his heart was burning, and never a word he said,
But clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head. | | XXV. | | Another sight saw the Moorish knight, when Roland blew his horn,
To call him to the combat in anger and in scorn;
All cased in steel from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood,
The long spear quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood. | | XXVI. | | Then out and spake Calaynos—"Thy name I fain would hear;
A coronet on thy helm is set; I guess thou art a Peer."—
Sir Roland lifted up his horn, and blew another blast,
"No words, base Moor," quoth Roland, "this hour shall be thy last."— | | XXVII. | | I wot they met full swiftly, I wot the shock was rude;
Down fell the misbeliever, and o'er him Roland stood;
Close to his throat the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore—
"What devil brought thee hither?—speak out or die, false Moor!"— | | XXVIII. | | "O! I serve a noble damsel, a haughty maid of Spain,
And in evil day I took my way, that I her grace might gain;
For every gift I offered, my lady did disdain,
And craved the ears of certain Peers that ride with Charlemagne."— | | XXIX. | | Then loudly laughed rough Roland—"Full few will be her tears,
It was not love her soul did move, when she bade thee beard the peers."—
With that he smote upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain,
"No more," he cries, "this moon will rise above the woods of Seine." | THE ESCAPE OF GAYFEROS. The story of Gayfer de Bourdeaux is to be found at great length in the Romantic Chronicle of Charlemagne; and it has supplied the Spanish minstrels with subjects for a long series of ballads. In that which follows, Gayferos, yet a boy, is represented as hearing from his mother the circumstances of his father's death; and as narrowly escaping with his own life, in consequence of his stepfather's cruelty. | I. | | Before her knee the boy did stand, within the dais so fair,
The golden shears were in her hand, to clip his curlÈd hair;
And ever as she clipped the curls, such doleful words she spake,
That tears ran from Gayferos' eyes, for his sad mother's sake. | | II. | | "God grant a beard were on thy face, and strength thine arm within,
To fling a spear, or swing a mace, like Roland Paladin!
For then, I think, thou wouldst avenge thy father that is dead,
Whom envious traitors slaughtered within thy mother's bed. | | III. | | "Their bridal-gifts were rich and rare, that hate might not be seen;
They cut me garments broad and fair—none fairer hath the Queen."—
Then out and spake the little boy—"Each night to God I call,
And to his blessÈd Mother, to make me strong and tall!"— | | IV. | | The Count he heard Gayferos, in the palace where he lay;—
"Now silence, silence, Countess! it is falsehood that you say;
I neither slew the man, nor hired another's sword to slay;—
But, for that the mother hath desired, be sure the son shall pay!" | | V. | | The Count called to his esquires, (old followers were they,
Whom the dead Lord had nurtured for many a merry day)—
He bade them take their old Lord's heir, and stop his tender breath—
Alas! 'twas piteous but to hear the manner of that death. | | VI. | | "List, esquires, list, for my command is offspring of mine oath—
The stirrup-foot and the hilt-hand see that ye sunder both;—
That ye cut out his eyes 'twere best—the safer he will go—
And bring a finger and the heart, that I his end may know."— | | VII. | | The esquires took the little boy aside with them to go;
Yet, as they went, they did repent—"O God! must this be so?
How shall we think to look for grace, if this poor child we slay,
When ranged before Christ Jesu's face at the great judgment day?"— | | VIII. | | While they, not knowing what to do, were standing in such talk,
The Countess' little lap-dog bitch by chance did cross their walk;
Then out and spake one of the 'squires, (you may hear the words he said,)
"I think the coming of this bitch may serve us in good stead— | | IX. | | "Let us take out the bitch's heart, and give it to Galvan;
The boy may with a finger part, and be no worser man."—
With that they cut the joint away, and whispered in his ear,
That he must wander many a day, nor once those parts come near. | | X. | | "Your uncle grace and love will show; he is a bounteous man;"—
And so they let Gayferos go, and turned them to Galvan.
The heart and the small finger upon the board they laid,
And of Gayferos' slaughter a cunning story made. | | XI. | | The Countess, when she hears them, in great grief loudly cries:
Meantime the stripling safely unto his uncle hies:—
"Now welcome, my fair boy," he said, "what good news may they be
Come with thee to thine uncle's hall?"—"Sad tidings come with me— | | XII. | | "The false Galvan had laid his plan to have me in my grave;
But I've escaped him, and am here, my boon from thee to crave:
Rise up, rise up, mine uncle, thy brother's blood they've shed;
Rise up—they've slain my father within my mother's bed.2 | MELISENDRA. The following is a version of another of the ballads concerning Gayferos. It is the same that is quoted in the chapter of the Puppet-show in Don Quixote. "'Child, child,' said Don Quixote, 'go on directly with your story, and don't keep us here with your excursions and ramblings out of the road. I tell you there must be a formal process, and legal trial, to prove matters of fact.'— 'Boy,' said the master from behind the show, 'do as the gentleman bids you. Don't run so much upon flourishes, but follow your plain song, without venturing on counterpoints, for fear of spoiling all'—'I will, sir,' quoth the boy, and so proceeding: 'Now, sirs, he that you see there a-horseback, wrapt up in the Gascoign-cloak, is Don Gayferos himself, whom his wife, now revenged on the Moor for his impudence, seeing from the battlements of the tower, takes him for a stranger, and talks with him as such, according to the ballad, 'Quoth Melisendra, if perchance,
Sir Traveller, you go for France,
For pity's sake, ask when you're there,
For Gayferos, my husband dear.' "'I omit the rest, not to tire you with a long story. It is sufficient that he makes himself known to her, as you may guess by the joy she shows; and, accordingly, now see how she lets herself down from the balcony, to come at her loving husband, and get behind him; but, unhappily, alas! one of the skirts of her gown is caught upon one of the spikes of the balcony, and there she hangs and hovers in the air miserably, without being able to get down. But see how Heaven is merciful, and sends relief in the greatest distress! Now Don Gayferos rides up to her, and, not fearing to tear her rich gown, lays hold on it, and at one pull brings her down; and then at one lift sets her astride upon his horse's crupper, bidding her to sit fast, and clap her arms about him, that she might not fall; for the lady Melisendra was not used to that kind of riding. "'Observe now, gallants, how the horse neighs, and shows how proud he is of the burden of his brave master and fair mistress. Look, now, how they turn their backs, and leave the city, and gallop it merrily away towards Paris. Peace be with you, for a peerless couple of true lovers! may ye get safe and sound into your own country, without any lett or ill chance in your journey, and live as long as Nestor, in peace and quietness among your friends and relations.'—'Plainness, boy!' cried Master Peter, 'none of your flights, I beseech you, for affectation is the devil.'—The boy answered nothing, but going on: 'Now, sirs,' quoth he, 'some of those idle people, that love to pry into everything, happened to spy Melisendra as she was making her escape, and ran presently and gave Marsilius notice of it; whereupon he straight commanded to sound an alarm; and now mind what a din and hurly-burly there is, and how the city shakes with the ring of the bells backwards in all the mosques!'—'There you are out, boy,' said Don Quixote; 'the Moors have no bells, they only use kettle-drums, and a kind of shaulms like our waits or hautboys; so that your ringing of bells in SansueÑa is a mere absurdity, good Master Peter.'—'Nay, sir,' said Master Peter, giving over ringing, 'if you stand upon these trifles with us, we shall never please you. Don't be so severe a critic. Are there not a thousand plays that pass with great success and applause, though they have many greater absurdities, and nonsense in abundance? On, boy, on, let there be as many impertinences as motes in the sun; no matter, so I get the money.'—'Well said,' answered Don Quixote.—'And now, sirs,' quoth the boy, 'observe what a vast company of glittering horse comes pouring out of the city, in pursuit of the Christian lovers; what a dreadful sound of trumpets, and clarions, and drums, and kettle-drums there is in the air. I fear they will overtake them, and then will the poor wretches be dragged along most barbarously at the tails of their horses, which would be sad indeed.' "Don Quixote, seeing such a number of Moors, and hearing such an alarm, thought it high time to assist the flying lovers; and starting up, 'It shall never be said while I live,' cried he aloud, 'that I suffered such a wrong to be done to so famous a knight and so daring a lover as Don Gayferos. Forbear, then, your unjust pursuit, ye base-born rascals! Stop, or prepare to meet my furious resentment!' Then drawing out his sword, to make good his threats, at one spring he gets to the show, and with a violent fury lays at the Moorish puppets, cutting and slashing in a most terrible manner: some he overthrows, and beheads others; maims this, and cleaves that in pieces. Among the rest of his merciless strokes, he thundered one down with such a mighty force, that had not Master Peter luckily ducked and squatted down, it had certainly chopped off his head as easily as one might cut an apple." At SansueÑa,3 in the tower, fair Melisendra lies,
Her heart is far away in France, and tears are in her eyes;
The twilight shade is thickening laid on SansueÑa's plain,
Yet wistfully the lady her weary eyes doth strain. | | II. | | She gazes from the dungeon strong, forth on the road to Paris,
Weeping, and wondering why so long her Lord Gayferos tarries,
When lo! a knight appears in view—a knight of Christian mien,
Upon a milk-white charger he rides the elms between. | | III. | | She from her window reaches forth her hand a sign to make,
"O, if you be a knight of worth, draw near for mercy's sake;
For mercy and sweet charity, draw near, Sir Knight to me,
And tell me if ye ride to France, or whither bowne ye be. | | IV. | | "O, if ye be a Christian knight, and if to France you go,
I pr'ythee tell Gayferos that you have seen my woe;
That you have seen me weeping, here in the Moorish tower,
While he is gay by night and day, in hall and lady's bower. | | V. | | "Seven summers have I waited, seven winters long are spent,
Yet word of comfort none he speaks, nor token hath he sent;
And if he is weary of my love, and would have me wed a stranger,
Still say his love is true to him—nor time nor wrong can change her."— | | VI. | | The knight on stirrup rising, bids her wipe her tears away,—
"My love, no time for weeping, no peril save delay—
Come, boldly spring, and lightly leap—no listening Moor is near us,
And by dawn of day we'll be far away"—so spake the Knight Gayferos. | | VII. | | She has made the sign of the Cross divine, and an Ave she hath said,
And she dares the leap both wide and deep—that damsel without dread;
And he hath kissed her pale pale cheek, and lifted her behind,
Saint Denis speed the milk-white steed—no Moor their path shall find. |
THE MARCH OF BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. Of Bernardo del Carpio, we find little or nothing in the French romances of Charlemagne. He belongs exclusively to Spanish History, or rather perhaps to Spanish Romance; in which the honour is claimed for him of slaying the famous Orlando, or Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne, in the fatal field of Roncesvalles. The continence which procured for Alonzo, who succeeded to the precarious throne of the Christians, in the Asturias, about 795, the epithet of the Chaste, was not universal in his family. By an intrigue with Sancho Diaz, Count of SaldaÑa, or Saldenha, Donna Ximena, sister of this virtuous prince, bore a son. Some historians attempt to gloss over this incident, by alleging that a private marriage had taken place between the lovers: but King Alphonso, who was well-nigh sainted for living only in platonic union with his wife Bertha, took the scandal greatly to heart. He shut up the peccant princess in a cloister, and imprisoned her gallant in the castle of Luna, where he caused him to be deprived of sight. Fortunately, his wrath did not extend to the offspring of their stolen affections, the famous Bernardo del Carpio. When the youth had grown up to manhood, Alphonso, according to the Spanish chroniclers, invited the Emperor Charlemagne into Spain, and having neglected to raise up heirs for the kingdom of the Goths in the ordinary manner, he proposed the inheritance of his throne as the price of the alliance of Charles. But the nobility, headed by Bernardo del Carpio, remonstrated against the king's choice of a successor, and would on no account consent to receive a Frenchman as heir of their crown. Alphonso himself repented of the invitation he had given Charlemagne, and when that champion of Christendom came to expel the Moors from Spain, he found the conscientious and chaste Alphonso had united with the infidels against him. An engagement took place in the renowned pass of Roncesvalles, in which the French were defeated, and the celebrated Roland, or Orlando, was slain. The victory was ascribed chiefly to the prowess of Bernardo del Carpio. The following ballad describes the enthusiasm excited among the Leonese, when Bernard first raised his standard to oppose the progress of Charlemagne's army. | I. | | With three thousand Men of Leon, from the city Bernard goes,
To protect the soil Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes
From the city which is planted in the midst between the seas,
To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo's victories. | | II. | | The peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight,
He quits his team for spear and shield, and garniture of might,
The shepherd hears it 'mid the mist—he flingeth down his crook,
And rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook. | | III. | | The youth who shows a maiden's chin, whose brows have ne'er been bound
The helmet's heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound;
The hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness,
Once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior's ringlets press. | | IV. | | As through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills,
They swelled his host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills;
They round his banner flocked, in scorn of haughty Charlemagne,
And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain. | | V. | | "Free were we born," 'tis thus they cry, "though to our King we owe
The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go;
By God's behest our aid he shares, but God did ne'er command,
That we should leave our children heirs of an enslavÈd land. | | VI. | | "Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak,
Nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break,
To sell our freedom for the fear of Prince or Paladin,—
At least we'll sell our birthright dear, no bloodless prize they'll win. | | VII. | | "At least King Charles, if God decrees he must be lord of Spain,
Shall witness that the Leonese were not aroused in vain;
He shall bear witness that we died, as lived our sires of old,
Nor only of Numantium's pride shall minstrel tales be told. | | VIII. | | "The Lion4 that hath bathed his paws in seas of Libyan gore,
Shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore?
Anointed cravens may give gold to whom it likes them well,
But steadfast heart and spirit bold Alphonso ne'er shall sell." | LADY ALDA'S DREAM. The following is an attempt to render one of the most admired of all the Spanish ballads. En Paris esta DoÑa Alda, la esposa de Don Roldan,
Trecientas damas con ella, para la accompaÑar,
Todas visten un vestido, todas calÇan un calÇar, &c. In its whole structure and strain it bears a very remarkable resemblance to several of our own old ballads—both English and Scottish. | I. | | In Paris sits the lady that shall be Sir Roland's bride,
Three hundred damsels with her, her bidding to abide;
All clothed in the same fashion, both the mantle and the shoon,
All eating at one table, within her hall at noon:
All, save the Lady Alda, she is lady of them all,
She keeps her place upon the dais, and they serve her in her hall;
The thread of gold a hundred spin, the lawn a hundred weave,
And a hundred play sweet melody within Alda's bower at eve. | | II. | | With the sound of their sweet playing, the lady falls asleep,
And she dreams a doleful dream, and her damsels hear her weep;
There is sorrow in her slumber, and she waketh with a cry,
And she calleth for her damsels, and swiftly they come nigh.
"Now, what is it, Lady Alda," (you may hear the words they say,)
"Bringeth sorrow to thy pillow, and chaseth sleep away?"—
"O, my maidens!" quoth the lady, "my heart it is full sore!
I have dreamt a dream of evil, and can slumber never more. | | III. | | "For I was upon a mountain, in a bare and desert place,
And I saw a mighty eagle, and a falcon he did chase;
And to me the falcon came, and I hid it in my breast,
But the mighty bird, pursuing, came and rent away my vest;
And he scattered all the feathers, and blood was on his beak,
And ever, as he tore and tore, I heard the falcon shriek;—
Now read my vision, damsels, now read my dream to me,
For my heart may well be heavy that doleful sight to see."— | | IV. | | Out spake the foremost damsel was in her chamber there—
(You may hear the words she says), "O! my lady's dream is fair—
The mountain is St. Denis' choir; and thou the falcon art,
And the eagle strong that teareth the garment from thy heart,
And scattereth the feathers, he is the Paladin—
That, when again he comes from Spain, must sleep thy bower within;—
Then be blithe of cheer, my lady, for the dream thou must not grieve,
It means but that thy bridegroom shall come to thee at eve."— | | V. | | "If thou hast read my vision, and read it cunningly"—
Thus said the Lady Alda, "thou shalt not lack thy fee." But
woe is me for Alda! there was heard, at morning hour,
A voice of lamentation within that lady's bower,
For there had come to Paris a messenger by night,
And his horse it was a-weary, and his visage it was white;
And there's weeping in the chamber and there's silence in the hall,
For Sir Roland had been slaughtered in the chase of Roncesval. | THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS. This is a translation of the ballad which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, when at Toboso, overheard a peasant singing, as he was going to his work at daybreak.—"Iba cantando," says Cervantes, "aquel romance que dice,
Mala la vistes Franceses la caÇa de Roncesvalles." | I. | | The day of Roncesvalles was a dismal day for you,
Ye men of France, for there the lance of King Charles was broke in two.
Ye well may curse that rueful field, for many a noble peer,
In fray or fight, the dust did bite, beneath Bernardo's spear. | | II. | | There captured was Guarinos, King Charles's admiral;
Seven Moorish kings surrounded him, and seized him for their thrall;
Seven times, when all the chase was o'er, for Guarinos lots they cast;
Seven times Marlotes won the throw, and the knight was his at last. | | III. | | Much joy had then Marlotes, and his captive much did prize,
Above all the wealth of Araby, he was precious in his eyes.
Within his tent at evening he made the best of cheer,
And thus, the banquet done, he spake unto his prisoner. | | IV. | | "Now, for the sake of Alla, Lord Admiral Guarinos
Be thou a Moslem, and much love shall ever rest between us.
Two daughters have I—all the day thy handmaid one shall be,
The other (and the fairer far) by night shall cherish thee. | | V. | | "The one shall be thy waiting-maid, thy weary feet to lave,
To scatter perfumes on thy head, and fetch thee garments brave;
The other—she the pretty—shall deck her bridal bower,
And my field and my city they both shall be her dower. | | VI. | | "If more thou wishest, more I'll give—speak boldly what thy thought is."—
Thus earnestly and kindly to Guarinos said Marlotes;—
But not a moment did he take to ponder or to pause,
Thus clear and quick the answer of the Christian Captain was: | | VII. | | "Now, God forbid! Marlotes, and Mary, his dear mother,
That I should leave the faith of Christ, and bind me to another.
For women—I've one wife in France, and I'll wed no more in Spain;
I change not faith, I break not vow, for courtesy or gain."— | | VIII. | | Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when thus he heard him say,
And all for ire commanded, he should be led away;
Away unto the dungeon keep, beneath its vault to lie,
With fetters bound in darkness deep, far off from sun and sky. | | IX. | | With iron bands they bound his hands. That sore unworthy plight
Might well express his helplessness, doomed never more to fight.
Again, from cincture down to knee, long bolts of iron he bore,
Which signified the knight should ride on charger never more. | | X. | | Three times alone, in all the year, it is the captive's doom,
To see God's daylight bright and clear, instead of dungeon-gloom;
Three times alone they bring him out, like Samson long ago,
Before the Moorish rabble-rout to be a sport and show. | | XI. | | On three high feasts they bring him forth, a spectacle to be,
The feast of Pasque, and the great day of the Nativity,
And on that morn, more solemn yet, when the maidens strip the bowers,
And gladden mosque and minaret with the first fruits of the flowers. | | XII. | | Days come and go of gloom and show. Seven years are come and gone,
And now doth fall the festival of the holy Baptist John;
Christian and Moslem tilts and jousts, to give it homage due;
And rushes on the paths to spread they force the sulky Jew. | | XIII. | | Marlotes, in his joy and pride, a target high doth rear,
Below the Moorish knights must ride and pierce it with the spear;
But 'tis so high up in the sky, albeit much they strain,
No Moorish lance so far may fly, Marlotes' prize to gain. | | XIV. | | Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when he beheld them fail,
The whisker trembled on his lip, and his cheek for ire was pale;
And heralds proclamation made, with trumpets, through the town,—
"Nor child shall suck, nor man shall eat, till the mark be tumbled down." | | XV. | | The cry of proclamation, and the trumpet's haughty sound,
Did send an echo to the vault where the admiral was bound.
"Now, help me God!" the captive cries, "what means this din so loud?
Oh, Queen of Heaven! be vengeance given on these thy haters proud! | | XVI. | | "O! is it that some Pagan gay doth Marlotes' daughter wed,
And that they bear my scorned fair in triumph to his bed?
Or is it that the day is come—one of the hateful three,
When they, with trumpet, fife, and drum, make heathen game of me?"— | | XVII. | | These words the jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he said,
"These tabors, Lord, and trumpets clear, conduct no bride to bed;
Nor has the feast come round again, when he that has the right,
Commands thee forth, thou foe of Spain, to glad the people's sight. | | XVIII. | | "This is the joyful morning of John the Baptist's day,
When Moor and Christian feasts at home, each in his nation's way;
But now our King commands that none his banquet shall begin,
Until some knight, by strength or sleight, the spearman's prize do win."— | | XIX. | | Then out and spake Guarinos, "O! soon each man should feed,
Were I but mounted once again on my own gallant steed.
O! were I mounted as of old, and harnessed cap-a-pee,
Full soon Marlotes' prize I'd hold, whate'er its price may be. | | XX. | | "Give me my horse, mine old grey horse, so be he is not dead,
All gallantly caparisoned, with plate on breast and head,
And give the lance I brought from France, and if I win it not,
My life shall be the forfeiture—I'll yield it on the spot."— | | XXI. | | The jailer wondered at his words. Thus to the knight said he,
"Seven weary years of chains and gloom have little humbled thee;
There's never a man in Spain, I trow, the like so well might bear;
An' if thou wilt, I with thy vow will to the King repair."— | | XXII. | | The jailer put his mantle on, and came unto the King,
He found him sitting on the throne, within his listed ring;
Close to his ear he planted him, and the story did begin,
How bold Guarinos vaunted him the spearman's prize to win. | | XXIII. | | That, were he mounted but once more on his own gallant grey,
And armed with the lance he bore on the Roncesvalles' day,
What never Moorish knight could pierce, he would pierce it at a blow,
Or give with joy his life-blood fierce, at Marlotes' feet to flow. | | XXIV. | | Much marvelling, then said the King, "Bring Sir Guarinos forth,
And in the Grange go seek ye for his grey steed of worth;
His arms are rusty on the wall—seven years have gone, I judge,
Since that strong horse has bent his force to be a carrion drudge. | | XXV. | | "Now this will be a sight indeed, to see the enfeebled lord
Essay to mount that ragged steed, and draw that rusty sword;
And for the vaunting of his phrase he well deserves to die,
So, jailer, gird his harness on, and bring your champion nigh."— | | XXVI. | | They have girded on his shirt of mail, his cuisses well they've clasped,
And they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the lance hath clasped,
And they have caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved of yore,
And he stands pawing at the gate—caparisoned once more. | | XXVII. | | When the knight came out the Moors did shout, and loudly laughed the King,
For the horse he pranced and capered, and furiously did fling;
But Guarinos whispered in his ear, and looked into his face,
Then stood the old charger like a lamb, with a calm and gentle grace. | | XXVIII. | | O! Lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree,
And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee;
Again the heathen laughed aloud—"All hail, Sir Knight," quoth he,
"Now do thy best, thou champion proud. Thy blood I look to see."— | | XXIX. | | With that Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode,
Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode.
Now ride, now ride, Guarinos—nor lance nor rowel spare—
Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life.—The land of France lies there! | THE
COMPLAINT OF THE COUNT OF SALDENHA. This ballad is intended to represent the feelings of Don Sancho, Count of Saldenha or SaldaÑa, while imprisoned by King Alphonso, and, as he supposed, neglected and forgotten, both by his wife, or rather mistress, Donna Ximena, and by his son, the famous Bernardo del Carpio. | I. | | The Count Don Sancho Diaz, the Signior of Saldane,
Lies weeping in his prison, for he cannot refrain:—
King Alphonso and his sister, of both doth he complain,
But most of bold Bernardo, the champion of Spain. | | II. | | "The weary years I durance brook, how many they have been,
When on these hoary hairs I look, may easily be seen;
When they brought me to this castle, my curls were black, I ween,
Woe worth the day! they have grown grey these rueful walls between. | | III. | | "They tell me my Bernardo is the doughtiest lance in Spain,
But if he were my loyal heir, there's blood in every vein
Whereof the voice his heart would hear—his hand would not gainsay;—
Though the blood of kings be mixed with mine, it would not have all the sway. | | IV. | | "Now all the three have scorn of me—unhappy man am I!
They leave me without pity—they leave me here to die.
A stranger's feud, albeit rude, were little dole or care,
But he's my own, both flesh and bone; his scorn is ill to bear. | | V. | | "From Jailer and from Castellain I hear of hardiment
And chivalry in listed plain on joust and tourney spent;—
I hear of many a battle, in which thy spear is red,
But help from thee comes none to me where I am ill bested. | | VI. | | "Some villain spot is in thy blood to mar its gentle strain,
Else would it show forth hardihood for him from whom 'twas ta'en;
Thy hope is young, thy heart is strong, but yet a day may be,
When thou shalt weep in dungeon deep, and none thy weeping see." | THE
FUNERAL OF THE COUNT OF SALDENHA. The ballads concerning Bernardo del Carpio are, upon the whole, in accordance with his history as given in the Coronica General. According to the Chronicle, Bernardo being at last wearied out of all patience by the cruelty of which his father was the victim, determined to quit the Court of his King, and seek an alliance among the Moors. Having fortified himself in the Castle of Carpio, he made continual incursions into the territory of Leon, pillaging and plundering wherever he came. The King at length besieged him in his stronghold, but the defence was so gallant, that there appeared no prospect of success; whereupon many of the gentlemen in Alphonso's camp entreated the King to offer Bernardo immediate possession of his father's person, if he would surrender his castle. Bernardo at once consented; but the King gave orders to have Count Sancho Diaz taken off instantly in his prison. "When he was dead they clothed him in splendid attire, mounted him on horseback, and so led him towards Salamanca, where his son was expecting his arrival. As they drew nigh the city, the King and Bernardo rode out to meet them; and when Bernardo saw his father approaching, he exclaimed,—'O God! is the Count of SaldaÑa indeed coming?'—'Look where he is,' replied the cruel King; 'and now go and greet him whom you have so long desired to see.' Bernardo went forward and took his father's hand to kiss it; but when he felt the dead weight of the hand, and saw the livid face of the corpse, he cried aloud, and said,—'Ah, Don Sandiaz, in an evil hour didst thou beget me!—Thou art dead, and I have given my stronghold for thee, and now I have lost all.'" | I. | | All in the centre of the choir Bernardo's knees are bent,
Before him for his murdered sire yawns the old monument. | | II. | | His kinsmen of the Carpio blood are kneeling at his back,
With knightly friends and vassals good, all garbed in weeds of black. | | III. | | He comes to make the obsequies of a basely slaughtered man,
And tears are running down from eyes whence ne'er before they ran. | | IV. | | His head is bowed upon the stone; his heart, albeit full sore,
Is strong as when in days bygone he rode o'er Frank and Moor; | | V. | | And now between his teeth he mutters, that none his words can hear;
And now the voice of wrath he utters, in curses loud and clear. | | VI. | | He stoops him o'er his father's shroud, his lips salute the bier;
He communes with the corse aloud, as if none else were near. | | VII. | | His right hand doth his sword unsheath, his left doth pluck his beard;—
And while his liegemen held their breath, these were the words they heard:— | | VIII. | | "Go up, go up, thou blessed ghost, into the arms of God;
Go, fear not lest revenge be lost, when Carpio's blood hath flowed; | | IX. | | "The steel that drank the blood of France, the arm thy foe that shielded,
Still, Father, thirsts that burning lance, and still thy son can wield it." | BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO. The incident recorded in this ballad may be supposed to have occurred immediately after the funeral of the Count of Saldenha. As to what was the end of the knight's history, we are left almost entirely in the dark, both by the Chronicle and by the Romancero. It appears to be intimated, that after his father's death, he once more "took service" among the Moors, who are represented in several of the ballads as accustomed to exchange offices of courtesy with Bernardo. | I. | | With some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appeared
Before them all in the palace hall, the lying King to beard;
With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise,
But ever and anon he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes. | | II. | | "A curse upon thee," cries the King, "who comest unbid to me;
But what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitors like to thee?
His sire, Lords, had a traitor's heart; perchance our Champion brave
Made think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho's grave." | | III. | | "Whoever told this tale the King hath rashness to repeat,"
Cries Bernard, "here my gage I fling before the liar's feet!
No treason was in Sancho's blood, no stain in mine doth lie—
Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny? | | IV. | | "The blood that I like water shed, when Roland did advance,
By secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of France;—
The life of King Alphonso I saved at Roncesval,—
Your words, Lord King, are recompense abundant for it all. | | V. | | "Your horse was down—your hope was flown—I saw the falchion shine,
That soon had drunk your royal blood, had not I ventured mine;
But memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate,
And ye've thanked the son for life and crown by the father's bloody fate. | | VI. | | "Ye swore upon your kingly faith, to set Don Sancho free,
But curse upon your paltering breath, the light he ne'er did see;
He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alphonso's base decree,
And visage blind, and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me. | | VII. | | "The King that swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black,
No Spanish Lord will draw the sword behind a Liar's back;
But noble vengeance shall be mine, an open hate I'll show—
The King hath injured Carpio's line, and Bernard is his foe." | | VIII. | | "Seize—seize him!"—loud the King doth scream—"There are a thousand here—
Let his foul blood this instant stream—What! Caitiffs, do ye fear?
Seize—seize the traitor!"—But not one to move a finger dareth,—
Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth. | | IX. | | He drew the falchion from the sheath, and held it up on high,
And all the hall was still as death:—cries Bernard, "Here am I,
And here is the sword that owns no lord, excepting heaven and me;
Fain would I know who dares his point—King, CondÉ, or Grandee." | | X. | | Then to his mouth the horn he drew—(it hung below his cloak)
His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke;
With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake,
And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake. | | XI. | | "Ha! Bernard," quoth Alphonso, "what means this warlike guise?
Ye know full well I jested—ye know your worth I prize."—
But Bernard turned upon his heel, and smiling passed away—
Long rued Alphonso and his realm the jesting of that day. |
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